


A Flower by Any Other Name

by Pups_Side_Box (Puppyinabox)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reverse, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Elf queen!calanthe, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, M/M, Multi, Witcher!jasier | dandelion, elven!ciri, fairy!yennefer, jaskier is bastard, jaskier is called oleander, painter!Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puppyinabox/pseuds/Pups_Side_Box
Summary: “You talk quite a lot for a witcher.” The man said with a frown, offering out a small pouch of coins.“I get that quite a lot.” Oleander tightened his grin despite the comment and took his coin.Jaskier is still named Jaskier, but he publicly goes by Oleander(for reasons that will be revealed later.). Geralt is a painter, cause I don’t see him being a bard.
Relationships: (later and implied), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 25
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

To the untrained eye The Witcher would have appeared like a statue, or a soldier frozen in battle by some curse. Frozen in time like a painting. Much the same his prey, the beast he’d been charged to kill, a bloedzuiger, lie in wait for whatever prey may stumble into its path. The terminal mistake it made however was keeping it’s head out for the mud, it’s circular maw a perfect target.

He’d regulated his breathing to near nothingness as he aimed his silver tipped arrow, dipped in a potion. Distance, silence, and swiftness were key to slay a bloedzuiger, though silence was not often his strongest suit.

Inhale, heartbeat, let go of a twitch.

Exhale, heartbeat, remember to be still.

Inhale, heartbeat, double check your aim.

Finally, on the exhale, he released the hold his nimble, calloused fingers had on the bowstring. It let out a soft twang, like a mistuned lute string, and launched the arrow down the throat of the bloedzuiger approximately twenty meters away as it lay hidden in a mud pond. As anticipated the potion took quick effect, reacting with the acids in the barrel like stomach of the bloedzuiger, causing it to explode.

Oleander, being a safe distance away from the burst of the Bloedzuiger, watched and waited as the acid seeped into the ground, making sure no other beasts lingered around the site. Carefully he collected some of its blood in a small glass bottle, for later purposes, humming a tune to himself as he worked. Carefully once again he collected his arrow back from the corpse of the beast.

“Your bloedzuiger problem’s gone. Cured the old acid reflux with an arrow.” Oleander presented the vial of blood to the man who had hired him to kill the beast, “I’ll take my coin, with the assurance that my expertise warrants a recommendation to a friend if later need for my services arises.”

“You talk quite a lot for a witcher.” The man said with a frown, offering out a small pouch of coins.

“I get that quite a lot.” Oleander tightened his grin despite the comment and took his coin.

“Don’t linger, now.”

“No need to fret, my good man, if anything I am light on my feet. Be sure to tell a friend.” Oleander would have liked to have used some of the coin he’d earned to stay the night in an inn but, as far as his confidence took him, he knew when he was being subtly pushed out the door. He pulled the bandana around his neck over his nose and mouth and set off for the next town that may need him, humming to himself as he went along. 

In the next town over he decided to rest for the night. He counted his money and reasoned he could afford an evening at the pub, he may manage to find work anyway. Word travels faster in a crowd, especially about monsters or newcomers looking for fast coin. Oleander had two options usually, talk his way into someone’s heart or someone’s head. A night of passion or a quick slaying of a beast, though quite often it was more of the latter than the former, to Oleander’s partial chagrin.

The road, too often, got rather lonesome.

He took a seat at the bar next to a young man with shortly cropped curly hair. He opened his mouth to speak to him but the man looked him over and quickly left. With a frown Oleander ordered a strong drink and continued to attempt conversation with a tall woman with her hair woven intricately around her head,

“Lovely evening, isnt it?” He grinned,

She laughed then turned to see him and looked him over, her smile falling into disgust as her eyes came to his medallion, “it was…” she walked off to the other end of the bar.

Oleander continued this attempt to socialize with the locals, all of which seemed to prefer avoiding him than staying in the seats they’d already selected. How rude. Oleander came across. A man with long black hair tied back, out of his face. He seemed to be sketching something into a small book with charcoals. He sat with a candle to light his space while he worked, sat in a corner alone.  
If he chose isolation over a crowd he likely would not enjoy Oleander’s company, however empty seats were hard to come by so he may simply stay, in which case Oleander may be able to get a word or two in.

He seemed to be sketching a scene in a swamp when Oleander made his way across to the man, the scene was calm yet somehow Oleander sensed moments after the snapshot the man sketched action would ensue. Perhaps a great beast would leap from beneath the murky depths of the swamp to battle a brave hero. The man had captured a moment in time on parchment and charcoal.

“It’s rather dim in here to be drawing,” he commented as he slid into the seat across from the man. The man did not even spare him a glance, but he made no move to leave which Oleander considered a win.

“I mean, when you’re used to the dark I suppose it isn't too hard. Tell me, dear fellow, do you take commissions for portraits, that's some fine work there.” Oleander tilted his head to get a better view of the book the man across from him sketched in.

“No.” The man said, not looking up from his work.

Oleander frowned, “well, perhaps you may have a request of your own for me, see I am a witcher and-“

“Rather talkative for a witcher.”

“It’s called advertising, sir, I pride myself in being a skilled advertiser.”

“But are you as skilled a witcher as you are a carnival barker?” The man looked up at him with a mocking grin,

Oleander let out an exaggerated gasp, his hand daintily against his chest, “the audacity! Though, for a few coins you may find out…”

The man gave a feigned smile and shut his book, “no thank you.”

“Then, perhaps, a drink? Company?”

“A harlot’s cheaper.”

“Wha- I’m offering, free of charge.”

“With the price of conversation.” The man stood, then held his hand out to shake, “my name is Geralt, should our paths cross again please refrain from these pleasantries and get to whatever point you intend to make or leave.”

Oleander raised his brow at Geralt then shook his charcoal stained hand. His fingertips were calloused yet his palm was soft.  
“I am Oleander,”

“The flower of posada?”

Oleander grimaced, “one and the same.”

Geralt hummed non-committedly, “may the evening be kind to you, flower.” And thus he left, leaving Oleander to, for once, silently sit in the light of the candle he left burning at the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Oleander set out early the next morning, having found no work the night before he did not want to spend more coin on the room or stay for a meal. He hummed to himself as he walked along the road, occasionally changing his steps to dance around, still making his way to wherever would take him in. Near noon he strung up his bow and took out a squirrel which he cooked over a small fire and ate after cleaning off his arrow to be used again.

There was a sound of a struggle further down the road as he ate, a horse in distress and a man in equal if not greater distress. He sighed and stood, kicking dirt into his fire to snuff it out and storing away the squirrel for later. He swiftly followed the sound of the struggle and came to find Geralt and his horse bound in arachasae webbing. It appeared Geralt had attempted to flee on his horse but the horse’s legs had been fought when the arachasae shot its web. 

Oleander carefully evaluated the scene from a distance before taking a running leap at the arachnid from behind and piercing a weak spot in its armor with his silver dagger, the blade laced with special poison meant for insects and arachnids. The arachasae thrashed violently, Oleander holding on for dear life to avoid its pincers at the front of it. Once it gave out he gave it another jab for good measure before checking on Geralt and his horse.

He cut them both loose and said, “running from them doesn't usually work. Silver arrows help, they have to be well aimed though, or just stay away from them.”

“I don't need to be pestered by a witcher right now.” Geralt said as he checked on his horse, once satisfied with the horse’s condition he frantically checked his things, making sure nothing was broken. He gingerly put his things back where they were packed on the horse’s back and got back on the saddle.

“I saved you, and your stinking horse! A little gratitude is due.”

“Don’t call roach stinking.” He said, pointedly. The horse, apparently named Roach, huffed and Geralt sighed, “but regardless, thank you. It was luck you came to our aid.”

Oleander nodded as he cleaned off his blade.  
He gestured to the arachasae’s corpse with it as he spoke, “They mostly hunt in secluded sections of the forest, which brings me to my question.” Oleander sheathed his blade and cocked his head, “what’s an artist like yourself doing on a secluded and dangerous forest road like this?” He chuckled,

“Traveling.” Geralt said simply, reigns wrapped around his hands.

“Sightseeing? Around here? Why, you’ll get yourself killed. Unless of course, you had protection.”

“Don’t tell me, you’re offering to accompany me as hired protection?”

“Cunning and creative I see.” Oleander grinned, “for a simple fee of… well we can discuss that when this journey is through-“

“It will never be through. But you will not accompany me.” Geralt said, not looking at Oleander.

“And why, pray tell, is that?”

“I intend to take this journey alone.”

“Good lord, you’re one of those brooding artist types, aren’t you. Suffering for your work, eh? Well I do think you sketch well, and it would be a shame for a creative spark such as yours to be snuffed out.” Oleander’s shoulders had tightened and his face twisted into one of discontent, “why go and get yourself killed, when you can live and make and do what you like?”. His tone has a jealous edge

“There is so much to see in the world and so little time to see it. You waste that time by trying to fill it with words, I simply do not want you staining my time.” Geralt grimaced

“That’s rather rude.”

Geralt grunted.

“But I am helpful. I live up to my word, in many ways. Beautiful yet deadly,” Oleander shirker, “swift to kill even the most horrid of beasts.”

“Beautiful is… a stretch.” Geralt said, though his tone was lightly teasing,

“You scoundrel! Your efforts to be alone surely would be more effective on a human. But one sole commonality I have with the usual witcher is that I am dedicated.”

“Why are you so odd?”

“Why is a dandelion yellow but a rose red? I simply am what I am.” Oleander frowned as he spoke, the topic being sour in his ears and even sourer in his mouth

“Witcher’s study under schools, don't they? Where were you trained?” Geralt continued to prod,

Oleander winced, “I… I am from the school of the oleander flower.” He held up his medallion. It was haphazardly self made. “Self taught.” He gave a grin he hoped appeared prideful and convincing,

“Surely that isn't true.”

Oleander sighed, “what does it matter where I come from? I am a witcher. I slay beasts, I get paid in coin. Is that not enough?”

“I suppose it is…” Geralt sighed then shook his head, “ugh I’ll probably regret this… fine.”  
“Pardon?”

“You may accompany me.”

“Wonderful! You shan’t regret this business deal, Geralt of…”

“Blavakin. I come from the small village of Blaviken.”

“We are a ways away from Blaviken, my good man.”

Geralt nodded, “I know… it is good.”

“What’s wrong with Blaviken? I’ve been there once myself, drifted more like it. They have a bit of a rat problem but that’s nothing they can’t handle…”

Geralt chuckled wryly, “yes… there certainly is a rat problem in Blaviken.”

“You certainly are an odd fellow, Geralt of Blaviken.”

“You’re an odd witcher, Oleander of Posada.”

“I am not of posada.” Oleander’s tone became tight, “I am not of anywhere. I am of the wind that whistles its lively tune through the mountains.”

Geralt shot him a look, his eyebrow arched, “very well… you may keep your secrets and I may keep mine.”

“Very well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, pacing is already fucking me up!  
> Thank you all for the lovely comments on the last chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Oleander quickly noticed things about Geralt, he noticed how gingerly he cared for his horse and his art supplies, how his hands were broad but gentle. He noticed a tightly wrapped piece of luggage, it was tall and broad, likely a canvas considering Geralt’s occupation. While Geralt got tense when Oleander tried to touch his things he got especially angry when he reached for that canvas.   
Most of the clothes Geralt carried were stained with paint or charcoal or ink, a much better contrast to some of Oleander’s blood stained garments.   
Some blood was simply too stubborn to get out of silk, and heaven forbid Oleander give up silk in such trying times.   
Times were always trying. But red silk didn’t show the stains.

“How long have you been traveling now, Geralt?”

Geralt hummed, “lost track by now.”

“I see. Why?”

“I told you, there’s so much to see-“

“Right, yes, and too little time to see it, but nice young men from nice little villages don't tend to wander through monster infested lands unless something’s happened, or they’re mad.”

“Blavakin isn’t a nice little village.”

“What makes you say that?”

Geralt gave him no answer. 

That night the two of them set up camp in a clearing surrounded by old oak trees, Oleander tended to the fire while Geralt groomed Roach. His lips moved silently as he groomed the horse, pausing sometimes as if waiting for a response.

“Are you talking to your horse?”

Geralt tensed, “no.”

“It’s alright if you are, I mean traveling does get lonely,”

“I just-... she’s a good horse.”

“Good for you, but i mean, I’m here. And considering i can actually give a more intuitive response-“

“That’s a reach.”

Oleander frowned, “fine. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Fine, more squirrel for me then.”

Geralt set his bedding near enough to the fire for warmth and sat down. He kept the wrapped canvas beside him, within his line of view, and took out his small leather bound sketchbook and charcoals. 

“You should probably sleep sometime. I’ll keep watch.”

“I haven't had issue with anything in the night before.” Geralt hunched over his sketchbook, visibly tired, “besides I want to work on this.”

“You’ll have time in the day, good lord you’re stubborn.”

“What about you,”

“Witchers don't need to sleep as much, and the energy I’d get from what little rest I do need I can supply with a potion.”

“What about your mind, shouldn’t that rest?”

“Said the insomniac artist…”

Geralt grunted but didn’t comment.

“I’m serious, if I'm going to be keeping an eye on you I can’t have you passing out and falling off your horse.”

“Fine. just let me finish this”

“Or course.”

When Geralt was asleep Oleander took out his dagger and cleaned and sharpened it, something to do with his hands and a way to have his blade at the ready if the need for it arose. While he scanned the dark forest outside of their little clearing he spotted a fairy circle. A perfect ring of perfect red and white mushrooms, a foot in diameter.

Oleander crouched beside the circle and gave one of the mushrooms a jab with his finger, 

“So, portal or cage?” he asked the air. He tried to reach over the ring but his hand met an invisible force, like a wall around the ring, “portal then… anyone on the other side?”

There was a long moment of silence before a shaky voice rippled out, like a brook,  
“May I have your n-”

“Oh buzz off, it’s me.”

“Who-”

Oleander rolled his eyes, “flower of posada.” his tone exasperated.

“Oh, i shouldn’t speak with you…” the voice said,

“Yeah, yeah, show yourself.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll ruin your perfectly good fairy circle that you spent effort on. Mushrooms are easy to pluck.”

“Fine! Fine, goodness i spent hours on this.” the woman materialized inside the ring, her violet eyes shining in the dark,

“Yennefer.” Oleander said,

“Jask-”

“No. you know that’s not what im called anymore.” Oleander glared as he stood,

“Fine. Oleander.”

“The hair is new,”

“A new glamor I’m trying out, I got bored of brown.” Yennefer stroked a lock of her hair,

Oleander hummed, “black does suit you, dark and evil.”

“Pitty about your hair.”

Oleander huffed, “you get used to it.”

“What brings you here?”

“I’m traveling with a human, a painter named Geralt.”

Yennefer grinned, “is he looking for a muse?”

“Oh please, Yenn, do you think I hadn't already asked? He only draws landscapes.” Oleander crossed his arms, “besides, manhunter, aren’t you in the queen’s court now?”

“The same queen that hates you for skipping out on her, denying her offer to join her royal guard.”

“I can’t be tied down…” Oleander chuckled,

“It was a foolish decision.”

“Well.” he looked over his shoulder back to the clearing, “it was mine.”

“Autonomy, is it really so important to you?”

“A fairy queen’s court is no place for a witcher.” Oleander sat in the grass next to the fairy ring, gesturing for Yennefer to sit too. She did, 

“Does iron hurt you? Or steel?”

“I don't feel pain.” Oleander laughed, “comes in handy with the jilted lovers and cucks…”

“You scoundrel.” Yennefer grinned, then her tone grew serious, “don’t get yourself killed though,”

“I’m the fastest witcher there is, there’s no killing me.”

“I’m serious Oleander.”

“Why? Why be serious? You’re in Stael’s court, you want for nothing.”

“I want so much more, you should know that since you left, the want for more than your station.”

“I don't want. I just… I didn’t belong there.”

“For once, I have to agree…”

Oleander scoffed, “yeah, well… good talking to you Yenn, happy hunting. Stay away from my ward.”

“No promises…” she laughed and disappeared with the mist.

Oleander sat by the fire and watched Geralt sleep until the sun rose. His hands began to shake with exhaustion as the golden light of dawn swept across their camp, so he downed a potion to easy the tremors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait of a few hours(ok many)  
> (I normally upload these chapters in the morning)  
> thanks again for the comments on the last chapter! and here we have yennefer! she's a fairy and she's a lady in the fairy queen Stael's court(like the countess Stael from the show) she and oleander knew each other while Oleander was playing around with Stael. (there's also more to Oleander's connection with the fairy world, but that's for another day)


	4. Chapter 4

“Rise and shine.” Oleander jabbed Geralt in the side with his finger. Geralt sprung awake and gripped Oleander’s wrist.

“Fucker!”

“Woah, hey, it’s just me. There’s a town a few miles from here and I intended on trying to find some work while we’re in the area, get some coin so we can buy some food later. And maybe a better place to sleep.”

“Fine. Don’t touch me.”

“Gotcha.”

Geralt always refused to look at Oleander. It wasn’t new for him, most folk didn’t like to look at him, his hair too pale white and eyes too inhuman. But when he did look Oleander noticed the amount of pain in his eyes. He looked at the world with deep sorrow, as if he saw something, some shadow, in everything and it stung.

When they got into town Oleander began asking around while Geralt found a place to keep Roach for the night.

“Witcher,” a man said in the market, “I have a request.”

“What may that be?”

“One of my pigs has gone missing, and a chicken.”

“It could be just a wolf.”

“So have two of my farm hands.”

“I see.” Oleander nodded, “very well, we can discuss payment after the fact.”

“I will pay seventy five orens.”

“This may be worth more than that, and besides. Give me your coin now and I fail, your coin is just going to be in the pocket of a corpse in the middle of nowhere, don't waste your money like that.”

The man nodded,

“I should be done by tomorrow.”

“Found something, it’s probably a werewolf, or something.”

Geralt hummed, 

“I bought some bread.” He said, holding up the loaf. It was wrapped in cloth and tied with twine, “it smells good.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh come on you haven't eaten anything all day.”

“You don't know that. I wasn’t with you in the late morning.”

“Fine. But there’s bread if you want it.

Geralt nodded,

That night Oleander guarded the farmer’s animals. A twig snapped around the corner of the barn. Oleander held his dagger at the ready while he followed the noise, silent as a tiger.  
Around the corner he saw a small girl, thin with pale blonde hair. She held a dead chicken in her hands as if she’d just snapped its neck,  
“Huh?”

She held a finger in front of her lips to shush him.

“Who are you?”

The little girl ran off. Oleander made an attempt to follow her into the woods but after rounding a tree he came face to face with a very tall, grave looking woman with a sword,

“Oh- h-hello, you are…”

“You’re a witcher.”

“Yes.”

“Keep away from my granddaughter.”

“Your granddaughter stole a chicken. Two chickens now. And a pig apparently.”

“I stole the pig.”

“Did you kill those two men?”

“They were pigs too.”

“Right… ok… I’ve-“

“Been tasked with killing the beast that has been terrorizing this village?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid that would be you, lady…”

“Calanthe. Mother of Paveta, grandmother to Cirilla, rightful lioness queen of Nilfgaard.”

“You’re th- you’re the elf queen?” Oleander lowered his dagger,

“Yes.” She spoke through ground teeth, “forced to live in this squalor, raising my only heir.”

“What about-“

“Paveta was killed in the sacking of Nilfgaard by Cintra.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry, your majesty, look, I-“

“No excuses, witcher.”

“I don’t intend to kill you, or cirilla.”

“And I have no intention of dying. It would seem a deal is in order.”

“Yes, it would seem so.”

Calanthe gestured with her sword to a bag with her things, “you should find the pelt of a werewolf in that bag, take it with you, claim that was the beast you slew.”

“And the animals will stop going missing?”

“It’s time the lioness and her cub took their leave. I intend to gather what’s left of my kingdom.”

Oleander nodded, “why… why kill those men?”

Calanthe looked at Oleander as if he were a drooling idiot, “I’m a grandmother trying to take care of her young orphan granddaughter in a foreign land, need I say more?”

Oleander nodded, “right… of course.” Oleander picked up the werewolf pelt, “best of luck, lioness of nilfgaard.”

“Go safely, talkative witcher.”

“I’m not that much of a chatterbox, am I?”

“It’s incessant.” Called Cirilla from behind Calanthe. Calanthe nodded.

Oleander made a face, “fine then. Goodbye.”

“I have a feeling this will not be the last time we meet, witcher.”

“Let’s hope next time it's on better terms.”

“I fear no such hope will come true, in times such as these.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reverse au elf Calanthe. Cirilla still has her powers, but they haven’t presented yet.  
> Sorry about the late upload yesterday adn how short this one is, thanks for the understanding and the nice comments!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oleander has a sensory overload in this one, just so yall know.(more of a panic attack then a sensory overload?? Idk things get to be far too much for him adn he reacts accordingly)

“Here you have it, the wolf is slain. No more of your animals should disappear!”

The crowd cheered. Jaskier loved those moments, the crowd a buzz with alcohol and celebration of newfound safety. It only happened with sensational kills, monsters that carried legends and actually existed. The attention felt almost the same as acceptance, but of course Oleander knew the difference. Once the story was over, when the wolf was forgotten and he stopped being a hero, they’d want him out. He existed only for their convenience and entertainment, and once he wanted to be more than that they wanted no more of him.

He was a witcher.  
He was not a person.

But still he wove the brave legend of how he slew the wolf, all bravado and pride. If his time in the spotlight was going to be short lived he intended it to at least be bright.

He would have sung the tale as a ballad if he still could sing.

Geralt watched from the back end of the crowd, his arms crossed and his face unreadable. Oleander nearly faltered but he went on,

“The beast leapt for me, its jaws open, ready to devour me whole! But I had my silver dagger at the ready. I cut its throat from the inside and cut its fur from its body as a prize!” He held the pelt above his head and the crowd cheered once more at the garish lie.

That night Geralt and Oleander ate on the village’s bill, their room was covered with the coin Oleander had been paid.

“You were lying back there.” Geralt said as he brushed out his hair,

“No…”

“That pelt was old.”

Oleander sighed, “they dont need to know that.”

“Then what really happened?”

“Why are you suddenly so talkative and interested in me?”

“Because you lied.”

Oleander crossed his arms, “the… it was a woman and her young granddaughter.”

“The one stealing the animals and killing those men?”

“Yes. She… the two of them were just trying to survive, the granddaughter… her grandmother was all she had.”

Geralt thought for a long moment, “the men that died… did they-“

“I assume they tried to hurt the two of them, yes. I dont know the details. I didn’t want them.”

Geralt grunted, he sat on the edge of his bed and tied his hair into a loose bun before he slept so that it wouldn’t be impossibly tangled when he woke up.

“So she gave me this.” He gestured to the pelt. “And people ignore details if they have a fun story to listen to.”

“Yes. That’s true.”

“She was… she was the old elf queen,”

“Calanthe?” Geralt stared at Oleander, it was the most of a reaction he’d ever seen from him,

“Yes. The lioness of nilfgaard, stealing from a farmer in a backwater village…” oleander mused, “times such as these…”

Geralt hummed, still struck by what oleander had told him,

“How come you found this so pressing anyway? I’ve been over dramatic about things before.”

“I hate liars.” Geralt said and got under the covers. And that was simply that.

The night went on and even the insects that cried in the newfound dark went to sleep.

Oleander could not sleep. He never really could anymore. He got tired for sure, but his body wouldn’t settle. The constant buzz and shake. He felt as he could feel every cell in his blood bumping into each other and flowing through him. It didn’t help that he could hear Geralt’s heartbeat across the room, slow and calm but not as slow as his own. 

Oleander knew if he was human his heart would be racing.

Geralt smelled like terra-cotta and dried lavender. Like a long forgotten plant that kept it’s color even long after death. Dried lavender pressed between pages of an old book. Oleander stared at him while he slept, justifying it in his own mind with his promise to protect the man, keep an eye on him.

Oleander tried to lay down but the fabric on his back hurt his skin. He stood and began to pace. He was a bird in a cage far too small. His wings were clipped and broken and he watched a man who smelt like lavender and slept softly. Geralt was Ophelia as she drifted down the river, surrounded by flowers, softly dead, gently sleeping. Oleander brushed a lock of hair that fell from the rest back into place. Geralt didn't move at all, had he not been able to hear his gentle heartbeat Oleander would think him dead.

Oleander longed to join the bouquet of lavender and gardenia that was Geralt’s scent.

He pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned. Ge ground his teeth and paced around the room, steps growing less silent, his hands wound tightly into fists. He would walk off this longing, this yearn, this vile want. Oleander must not want for anything, for the oleander was of a poisonous bloom. His head ached now, the scent overwhelming and painful, his exhausting gripped his skull, his soul screaming for rest, for sleep, for anything resembling a death he knew would not come. He heard everything, Geralt’s heart beating in his chest, his lungs filling and deflating. He heard the flow of his own blood in his ears, far too slow yet it roared like the ocean. He drowned in it.

“Oleander?”

The sound felt as if a town’s church bell was rung right beside his head, shaking him to his very core.

“Oleander, is something wrong?”

He shut his eyes and curled in on himself, everything too loud, 

“For fuck sake, Oleander!” Geralt had wrapped a quilt over his shoulders, he wasn’t touching him but the quilt smelled like him.

“Geralt?”

“What happened?” His calming blue eyes met the blaze in Oleander’s own amber ones,

“Can’t sleep.”

Geralt hummed, “you were stomping, and breathing very heavily.”

“Sorry to wake you… I should do something, get the nervous energy out…”

“You’re not leaving this room in this state.”

“If you get in my way i could slit your throat.”

“But you wont.”

“I would.”

“I know when you lie.”

Oleander laughed, “no, you don’t know the half of it…”

“Stay… please.”

“Why?”

“What am I paying you for? You said it yourself, you must guard me.” Geralt gave a smile. It was lopsided on his face. Clearly his face wasn’t used to smiling, but the attempt was true all the same. Oleander nodded and slumped, he hadn’t noticed how high his shoulders had been strung up,

“Fine… go back to sleep.”

“You have my quilt.”

“Take it back then.”

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yearning??? In a witcher fanfic???  
> Wow! So original!  
> (Sarcasm.)  
> But anyways once again thanks for all the support, i jsut found out hits from non logged in users aren’t being counted so sorry if i don’t know how many folk’s are actually reading this.
> 
> I’m gonna just keep acting like it’s a big crowd even tho it may jsut be an empty amphitheater rn.
> 
> Remember to wash your hands and maintain distance from others to reduce the spread of covid19  
> (I want to be able to go to college guys, seriously. My school is in New York(i live in North Carolina tho) so this curve needs to flatten QUICK!)


	6. Chapter 6

Geralt fell asleep on Oleander’s shoulder, and while he expected the contact to be overwhelming it did more to calm him than anything else. Maybe it was the weight of the quilt or the fact that Geralt had been the one to initiate the contact, he didn’t feel as monstrous considering he was letting something happen rather than making something happen. Oleander still didn’t sleep, but he wasn’t restless.

By the time the golden dawn crept in through the window his hands had stopped shaking and his senses eased their hypervigilance. Geralt stirred awake once the light reached them from across the room,

“Sleep well, Geralt?”

Geralt hummed, “well enough considering we’re on the floor.”

Oleander nodded, “I suppose we should be getting on our way now.”

“Yes.” Geralt picked up his bag, he hadn’t even unpacked anything for the night. He let his hair down with a sigh.

Had Oleander’s heart beat faster it would have skipped at the sight.

Once they were walking again down the road Oleander began making conversation, or rather attempting to,

“Once I was passing through this village in Tameria, killing some drowners they were having issue with and- have you ever seen a drowner?”

Geralt shook his head, 

“Oof, they’re ghastly, hanging out by water, they drag people under and eat them, sometimes while they’re still drowning. This village had an infestation in the river they used for their water supply. A few children went missing, well, got eaten, playing by the water and one woman who was washing her clothes… what was I saying?”

“Not much I hop-”

“Right yes, i was passing through there when-”

“You’d make a better bard than a bodyguard, you know. Telling all these grand tales while not keeping an eye on our surroundings.”

“I am keeping an eye on things! Besides… I can’t sing.”

“Have you tried?”

Oleander wrapped his arms around himself tightly, “yes… I used to, sing I mean, but- I can’t anymore.”

Geralt looked down at Oleander from atop Roach with pity, “is that… is that part of becoming a witcher?”

Oleander opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. Then he moved his hands to his hips and laughed, “no I simply just stopped practicing, it’s been… gods, decades, maybe almost a century! No point trying again now.” oleander picked up his pace, walking ahead of Roach’s slow steps, “come on now, we should make better pace with this daylight.” Oleander declared.

Geralt watched his back as he walked ahead, his posture seemed uncomfortable. The topic of singing must have been sensitive to him, and Geralt could respect that.

Up ahead in the path was a small procession of three people wearing matching dark colored cloaks. Oleander stopped in his tracks, his arm out to the side to gesture for Geralt and roach to stop whent hey reached him,

“What’re you-”

“Sh!” Oleander held a finger to his lips,

“Oh you’re telling me to shut up that is rich…” geralt hissed back, only to be shushed again by Oleander. Oleander motioned towards his dagger, and titled his head in the direction of the cloaked three,

“Stay here, im gonna check on this.”

Geralt frowned, “fine.”

Oleander stepped up behind the three, “pardon me,” he called, “My compatriot and I appear to be lost, could you perhaps help us with directions?”

One of the figures turned and he saw its face. Twisted and grey, eyes sunken far too deep and cheekbones too sharp to be human, a Bruxa.

The one in the center lunged for Oleander, the other two following. Oleander took out his silver dagger and dodged the first attacker, plunging his knife into the side of the head of the second. The first Bruxa came back up behind him but he kicked back, shoving it to the ground again. He pulled his dagger from the skull of the dead bruxa. The third ran at him but he jabbed the silver dagger through its heart. The first Bruxa shoved him to the ground, so he was trapped on top of the corpse. It clawed at his arms, tearing his sleeve. He twisted around and slit its throat, putrid decaying blood spilling all over him.

With a sigh he heaved the corpse off of him, wiped his dagger on the cloak of one of them, and put it away.

“You’re a mess.” Geralt called from his distance away

Oleander groaned.

They stopped near a river so Oleander could clean himself and Roach could take a quick rest. Oleander waded into the river, his shirt discarded on the riverbank, the water reached just above his waist, and hummed softly as he bathed. He heard Geralt’s footsteps on the gravel riverbank, then he heard him sit. Oleander turned to see Geralt sketching on the shore, paying him no mind. Oleander turned his back once again and continued to wash away the viscera from his last kill, kneeling down so the water could flow over his head. When he came back up he shook out the water from his locks and rubbed his face this his hands,

“Those are some big scars.” he heard Geralt comment from his spot on the riverbank. Oleander whipped around to face him, arms wrapped around himself, 

“When you constantly fight monsters you tend to get some pretty nasty scars…” Oleander said

“They were clean, just… big. Two, at your shoulder blades, down your ba-”

“I am well aware of them.” Oleander snapped, walking back to the shore to retrieve his shirt and slipping it back on.

“How did you get th-”

“Im not going to tell you.” Oleander walked quickly to where Roach was tied and picked his bag back up, slinging it over his shoulder. The strap dug in the center between his shoulder blades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo mysterious scars! certainly this isnt a foreshadowing towards oleander's backstory!(it is)
> 
> we are a month into quarentine and I have cut my own hair but that's fine.  
> thanks for the comments, they keep me going, especially since the servers aren't handling the new traffic with the quarentine well.
> 
> once again, sorry about the late upload.  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck stregobor.

They travelled in silence until night fell, not making it to the next town due to their incident with the Bruxae. Geralt thought he would have liked silence, but it was disconcerting from Oleander. There wasn’t even a hint of his light humming, and had he not been walking ahead of him Geralt would think he wasn’t even there. His shoulders were tight, his steps jagged and jerky.

When they set up camp Oleander silently handed Geralt a piece of bread that he’d packed when they were in the last village. He started a fire and got to cleaning and sharpening his weapons. He counted his arrows with scrutiny, fingers caressing the worn fletching gingerly. Geralt hadn’t noticed before but Oleander never took off his gloves, not even to bathe in the river.

“I apologize.”

“For?”

“For earlier. No one wants their scars questioned, nor does anyone want prying eyes.” Geralt fiddled with the edge of his sketchbook, 

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Where’d your voice go Oleander?”

“I’m not telling you-“

“I mean, you’re not talking to me.”

“Don’t tell me now you miss it.” Oleander rolled his eyes and stabbed his iron dagger into its sheath,

Geralt didn’t answer.

“You want to apologize? Tell me what’s that?” He pointed to the wrapped canvas, “so precious to you and so hidden.”

“Oleander-“

“Exactly. That’s what I thought.”

Geralt sighed. He grabbed the canvas from his things and carefully unwrapped it. It was a portrait of a woman with short curly hair. She was not dressed in regal garb, she didn’t look like someone who could afford to commission an artist, nor did she have the means to dress extravagantly for her portrait. But most strikingly, she had no face.

“What-“

“This is the last portrait I’ve ever painted.” Geralt explained.

“She’s… she’s got no face.”

Geralt stared at the portrait with a sad fondness, as one would a grave of a loved one, “I never was good at faces… they took too long. I was so worried about capturing her.”

Oleander watched Geralt carefully,

“She was so much. So many things. And I… I loved each thing.”

“Loved?”

“She died before I could complete the portrait…”

“What was her name?”

“Renfri.” Geralt wrapped the portrait and set it back, “is that… a sufficient apology?” His voice shook. Such a tower of a man and he trembled.

Oleander regarded him, “yes.” He said.

Geralt nodded and sat beside the fire.

“I… can’t…” Oleander huffed, “I am not in the place that I can tell you where the scars come from… but they’re very old… wait hold on did you say Renfri?”

“Yes?”

“Born under the black sun?”

Geralt frowned, “yes…”

“I didn’t know you knew her.”

“You knew her?”

“I’d heard of her. A mage had tried to get me to kill her… I refused.”

“Well he found another witcher to kill her…”

“He accosted me on the road, trying to convince me she was a monster. Just because of the circumstances of her birth… I wasn’t having any of it, he was a mad man, obsessed.”

“He was in hiding in Blaviken.”

“You’re kidding… wager he’s still there?” 

“It’s why I left.”

Oleander nodded. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, “there is still a monster in Blaviken…”

“Oleander.” Geralt said warningly, “no. I refuse to go back there.”

“Alright… she must have been lovely.”

Geralt stared at Oleander’s face, his eyes darting around his features, “she was…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy how jaskier and renfri look similar in the show, huh?
> 
> Sorry about the lack of upload yesterday, and thank you for the patience.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, i’m not vibin that well y’all...

Oleander smiled, “well, it’s a shame then you never finished that portrait.” The sun had been setting for a while then, the gold light had dimmed to the dark purples of the night. The light made Geralt’s deep black hair look indigo, like the depths of a sea or a ripe blackberry in a thick bush of thorns.

“Yes, it is.” He seemed to droop and move with the direction of the wind, a lone willow in the center of a field. Something in his eyes was dull and seemed to be waiting. He was worn thin.

“You should… you should sleep.” Oleander watched the sun dip under the horizon through the trees, breaking away from his assessment of Geralt’s face.

“I’m not tired.”

Oleander gave him a look, then sighed, “fine…” he laughed, “you really missed my talking?”

Geralt frowned, “that’s not what I said-“

“Yes it is.”

“It seemed like a bad sign you were quiet. If you’re meant to protect me I need to be sure you’re alright, nothing more.”

“That’s a pretty convoluted way to say you enjoy my conversation.” Oleander grinned, 

Geralt hummed,

“I’m not complaining… it gets rather lonely on the road. But then again I should be used to it.”

“Being a witcher sounds like a lonely thing.”

“It doesn't really matter. We don’t feel. Not really at least… especially not me.”

“You’re kidding me right?” Geralt sat up, “if anything you’re the most emotional person I’ve met.”

“It’s a dance, Geralt. A show.” Oleander poked at the ground with a stick he found, “people find it disconcerting that someone may be devoid of emotion, so I’ve learned to act.”

“So it was an act when you got upset about my question?”

Oleander stopped, then put the stick down, “well… pain is still necessary.” His veneer was crumbling the more Geralt picked at it. But not feeling was simpler, feeling pain only was simpler. Being a man made machine was his purpose anyway, a tool, a weapon. Who wants a sword that cries when you say it’s too dull?

“What?” Geralt seemed agitated.

“Pain. You dont need joy or love, or yearning, or contentment. You dont need to feel any of those when you’re a witcher. Just pain, or the absence of it. Pain to know you’re injured and you need to repair your body, the absence of it to know you’re done being repaired.”

“Then why showboat about killing a werewolf?”

“I’ve told you before, Geralt… advertising!”

“Why spare the elf queen?”

Oleander sighed, “old debts… it’s all business, Geralt.” He lied.

“Well, I think you’re lying.” Geralt laid down on his side, facing away from Oleander, “worst of all to yourself.”

“I was born a liar.” He said to Geralt, but mostly to himself.

Geralt said nothing in response. Oleander assumed he was asleep.

Oleander paced the clearing, like a caged animal, watching Geralt sleep. The sun was long gone then, the moon being the only light around him besides the fire near Geralt. Cold white light versus warm yellow flame. His scars on his back hurt more than they had in a long time, burning down from his shoulder blades. He remembered the hot iron used to burn the wounds closed, he’d passed out from the pain of it. He remembered waking up in a pool of his own vomit and sweat and blood, and everything was too much. He remembered hearing everything but his own heart beat, it was death. It was birth.

“Oleander.”

He frowned and turned to the edge of the clearing, looking through the trees into the woods, “yennefer… didn’t I tell you to stay away from-“

“You’re upset.” Her head tilted to one side.

“Yeah, I said to keep your distance and you are not.”

“Not with me. You’re a very bad liar, Oleander… considering-“

“What do you want.”

“To check in on you.” Yennefer stepped into the firelight a bit, “he’s asleep now… too deep to hear us. This is when we talk.”

“We talked before. There isn't anything left to say.”

“Your human doesnt like it when you lie, Oleander.”

“He’s not mine…”

“You want him.” Yennefer sat on the ground, gesturing to the space in front of her. Oleander rolled his eyes and sat across from her.

“I don’t. I don’t need anything.”

“Maybe not. But you do want. Why else would you still wear that pretty face?” Yennefer reached to cup his cheek, but he turned away,

“You don't know… anything. You don't know me.”

“You don't get to say that.” Yennefer’s expression grew dark, “I knew you before you can even remember.”

“And you don't look a day older than ancient…” Oleander jabbed.

“Oh please, I was a child when you were born but I’m not that old.” Yennefer smiled,

Her eyes cut into him.

“Yennefer… I only have one face now. It’s this one.”

“You’re kidding…”

“No.” Oleander touched his face, “just this scarred form… mangled and mutated.”

Yennefer’s face fell. She was silent,

“They didn’t just take my wings, Yennefer…”

“I’m sorry.”

Oleander stared at the lilac wings jutting from her back, he remembered how they used to bend the wrong way, how they were mangled like her wings had been taken in hand and bent out of shape. But they were always like that, born broken and twisted. Now they stood straight, shimmering and clean.  
“There are worse things to lose… at least I’m alive.”

“But is it living?”

Oleander wrapped his arms around himself, “there are worse things that can happen to a changeling…”

“Ja-... Oleander.”

“Don’t say that… dont say any of them.”

“Your names?”

Oleander nodded, 

“Ok…. do you want to know something?”

“Not really.”

“Well… you picked the right face to be stuck in, with this human of yours.”

Oleander grimaced, “I didn’t choose this.”

Yennefer sighed and nodded, “you know you’re welcome home.”

“That would be true if that home still existed, Yennefer.”

Yennefer nodded, “I hope you find your way, wherever that may be.”

Oleander blinked and she was gone, the smell of lilac hanging in the air, as the horizon began to blush with dawn. Geralt stirred behind him, and Oleander returned to his pacing watch over the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oleander being a changeling has been planned from the beginning. Idk if a changeling could become a witcher but here we are. I will elaborate later.  
> (Yen and Jas have history and get along like siblings in my mind for this AU)

**Author's Note:**

> Yeehaw thanks for reading this far.  
> Oleander is a poisonous flower, so i thought it would work better for witcher!jaskier than jaskier.
> 
> Here’s the links to the designs i made for these two, for reference:  
> https://puppyinaboxblog.tumblr.com/post/612468432731045888/heres-a-concept-design-for-witcherjaskier. (


End file.
